


Just Excellent

by andromedacrawley



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: "Please don't say it," she begged him internally. "Please don't."But her pleas went unanswered as Matthew proudly announced, "Lavinia and I will get married."
Relationships: Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley, Matthew Crawley/Lavinia Swire, Richard Carlisle/Mary Crawley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Just Excellent

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read the script books for Downton, which not only include deleted scenes but footnotes with extra details from Julian Fellows. Usually they are about clarifying historical details, but some of them are regarding insights on the characters. I was sort of surprised when he revealed Mary was "livid" after learning Matthew and Lavinia were going to be married after Matthew recovered from his back injury because she had apparently decided that she would try to win him back. Nevertheless, I was intrigued by exploring what she must have been thinking and it resulted in this! Hope you enjoy!

She wondered if she was really going to go through with it— marrying Richard, that is. When they had first met, he had seemed an interesting sort of man, one who was clearly accumulating a great deal of wealth and power at a rapid rate. She had been drawn to him, in a way, thinking him the sort of person she ought to be with, the perfect antidote to cure her of the sickness that had plagued her since 1914.

But now... now Mary knew she was incurable. Richard wasn't an antidote, merely a sleeping drought, something to dull her senses and take her mind off her plague. She would never be rid of it— no matter how much she may wish she could be.

Mary sighed, rubbing perfume on her wrists. There was no sense on dwelling on it, though. Matthew was trapped in a wheelchair and she was trapped by her secret... and Richard. Unless she wanted to be alone the rest of her days alone and a pariah, marrying Richard was her only choice. And Matthew... he didn't want to marry. He had said as much to her, about how pleased he was about her engagement, how he had sent Lavinia away.

Had Matthew been free and unhindered of an engagement or his injury, Mary felt that she might be able to chalk up the courage to tell him about Pamuk... and to tell him how she truly felt. Even though she had felt it with an all consuming passion that had left her dizzy and breathless, Mary had never put those three words together in Matthew's presence. It was always in the subtleties— " _Sometimes I feel like you are the only person whose company I can stand these days,_ " or " _Whatever you do, please be safe_ ," or, most recently, " _And what if she should want to be with you? On any terms?"_

Mary met her own gaze in the mirror. No— it was best this way. Even if he were well and she weren't shackled by her engagement, it was good thing she hadn't told him the truth. Mary was certain there was no way she could possibly recover once he learned of her deceit, her impropriety, how tarnished she was— essentially, when he would hate her.

Still, Mary mused, if she didn't have the specter of Mr. Pamuk hanging over her head and Richard's promise to publish, she would gladly remain single all her days if it meant being by Matthew's side. She had always grown up expecting to have children, but she supposed they weren't a necessity— even though she had grown rather fond of the imaginary blond and blue eyed children she had only dared to think about when she was alone and unable to sleep at night. In fact, she would gladly marry Matthew now as he was, regardless of the nonsense he said about not being a proper man, even though she knew he would be too noble to surrender. No one made her happier than he did— they could live out their days together at Downton, just the two of them...

It was these thoughts that filled Mary's head as she stepped into the hallways, though they were disrupted when she saw a flash of red hair and heard Papa's triumphant voice call out, "Mary! Girls! Cora! Come quick!"

Papa was already running down the stairs with Lavinia, ignoring Mama's questions. "Everyone, come at once!" He cried out in excitement.

"What is it? What's happened?" She demanded, chasing after them so quickly she felt as if she was in danger of falling. Was Matthew hurt?

"Come and see this!" was the only answer he gave, running down the stairs.

Mary glanced at her sisters, who were as shaken and as curious as she was, if their expressions were anything to go by. They followed him down, until they reached the library, where they found Matthew in his wheelchair.

"Is it true? Is it true what Lavinia says?" asked Papa, nearly frantic.

Matthew said nothing, merely smiling... and rising to his feet. It was not without great effort, but it was there... he was _standing_...

There were voices swirling all around her, several other people in the room, but the only one who mattered was him. "I don't believe it!" exclaimed Mary, tears in her eyes. He was standing, he wasn't injured, he could walk—

She could marry him. No one would find fault in that, could they? After all, he had broken with Lavinia ages ago... he wasn't bound to her any longer. Of course, Mary didn't want to hurt Lavinia, as she had come to view the girl as a friend, but this was _her_ and _Matthew_. They had endured so much... surely this was a sign that things would be alright after all, that they _were_ meant for each other, that those children weren't just dreams after all...

As Dr. Clarkson began explaining the real diagnoses, the bruised on his back instead of a full break, Mary began to plan. Some (like Edith) might call it plotting, but she called it planning.

She would wait a day or to, as to not seem overeager and to plan just how she must word things. Mary had to tell Matthew about Mr. Pamuk first. It was an inconvenient reality, but one she had to face. She would get him alone, disclose the truth, and tell him she was in love with him. She would give him time, as much as he possibly needed, to make up his mind. This would be the worst part, the most difficult part. Mary was willing to accept that there was great possibility that he would despise her, but the hopeful romantic within her felt that if she spoke eloquently enough, if she were able to convince of passion, and insist that this was the only reason she had never given him a real answer, all might be forgiven. And Matthew was a good man...

Once he accepted her, she would break with Richard. Ideally, she would tell him in person, as that was the right thing to do, but she wasn't averse to merely jotting it down in a letter and sending it to him if he had already returned to London by then. He wouldn't understand, he would publish her scandal, but hopefully it would look like the ramblings of jilted, jealous man rather than a true tale after the engagement between her and Matthew was announced.

And then her and Matthew would marry. Maybe it wouldn't be a extravagant ceremony... maybe he wouldn't even be out of his chair by then but Mary was certain it would be perfect, no matter when or how it happened. How could it not be? They would live at Downton, she would stay by his side as he began to recover, she would nurse him back to health... they would be deliriously happy...

But all her hopes were crashed in a single moment as they sat around the dining room table. "I—I want to tell you all something," began Matthew, drawing the attention from everyone in the room. "As you know, during this— well, I think I can say— horrible time, Lavinia has proved to be the most marvellous person."

Mary liked Lavinia; there was a part of her that wished she didn't, but it was impossible to dislike her. She was so sweet, genuine, and caring... and Mary knew she adored Matthew. If it couldn't be her, she would want it to be Lavinia... but it didn't mean she wanted it to be Lavinia.

His words about it being a horrible time made her start. Was it so horrible, residing at Downton? His injury aside, Mary had quite enjoyed having the knowledge that her and Matthew slept under the same roof, that he would always be there. Lavinia, a nasty part of her brain reminded her, hadn't been there to hold a bowl for him to vomit in, hadn't bathed him and taken care to disinfect each cut and scape on his skin. Lavinia wasn't the one who took him on long walks, far away from the prying eyes of others. But Mary knew was being spiteful and pushed those thoughts back.

"Here, here!" Papa chorused, his remark earning the approval of nearly everyone else at the table. Lavinia blushed.

"I never thought we would marry, for all sorts of reasons, but she wouldn't accept that. And so, now I'm very pleased to say that she's been proved right." He turned to the woman in question adoringly, their hands clasped together.

 _Please don't say it,_ she begged him internally. _Please don't._

But her pleas went unanswered as Matthew proudly announced, "Lavinia and I will get married."

Mary was oblivious to everything after that. It was as if her last hold on sanity had broken away. She imagined making a scene, flipping over the table in a display of superhuman strength that she didn't possess and demanding he take his words back, but instead she sat frozen in the chair as her own family congratulated the love of her life on his impending nuptials.

There would be no blond babies, not for her. Lavinia would bear them and she would be ten times the mother Mary could ever hope to be. If she ever met them, she would likely be Cousin Mary, the cold yet sad woman who spent far too much time in London and never paid much attention to them.

Mama was watching her. Mary smiled, feeling as if her skin was crumbling and cracking as she did so. It was an illusion of happiness she didn't feel, a gesture necessary to prevent there from being too many questions asked after dinner from her mother or her fiancé...

It was a sickening realization to understand she was truly bound to Richard now. She no longer had options, not if she didn't want to be ruined.

"Just as soon as I'm well enough to walk down the aisle," continued Matthew, unaware that each word he spoke was a dagger in her heart. "Dr. Clarkson can help us with when."

"Not long now!" The doctor reported far too cheerfully for Mary's liking.

"And she feels we ought to marry here," said Matthew with a smile, "at Downton, to bury forever the memories of what, I hope, has been the darkest period of my life."

So she had known; this wasn't some elaborate surprise that Matthew had conjured up in an effort to be gallant after throwing her over. They had planned this... while she sat there, concocting fairytales about how to win him over again, they were planning their marriage. It wasn't like her to be so fanciful, not when she had always been such a cynic, but learning he could walk again had seemed like a sign from above, as if they were meant to be.

But her last hope was extinguished. Lavinia wasn't going to back out, demurely admitting that this was all too much for her to take on. Richard was never going to let her go. Mary was never going to kiss Matthew ever again, never know what it would be like to hold his child in her arms and look for her own features in their face.

And Matthew would never love her again. Never feel his eyes caressing her skin from across a crowded room, never hear his low voice in her ear as he whispers an inside joke, never know what could have been. If only she could have known what in store in those hazy summer days in 1914 (or even still, that horrible night in 1913)... had she known that _this_ would be consequence she would face, Mary never would have allowed herself to make the decision she had made.

"Bravo! Excellent news!" Granny said, before fixing her with a severe look. She was able to read it like a book: _You had your chance. Just try to be happy for him._ She had been the one, after all, to suggest she accept him and change her mind if his prospects changed when it seemed as though Mama was going to have another baby. They could have been married by now, Mary realized bitterly, staring at the happy couple with jaded envy. He could have been _her_ husband, they could have been celebrating this moment for _her_ sake as well as his. "Mary! Isn't that excellent news?"

 _Don't you dare cry,_ she told herself, even though there was nothing else in the world she would rather do right now— except perhaps scream. She knew, that when she dismissed herself to bed early that night, when Anna would leave her alone to her empty bedroom, that she would bury her face in her pillow and sob, resigned to a cold, empty future. She remembered her words to Anna all those years ago: _Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart. Everyone knows that._

Now she wished it was true. Because now her heart was breaking.

But Granny was looking at her, urging her to say something, anything. So with enthusiasm she didn't feel, Mary said, "Just excellent."


End file.
